The sky over Moscow seemed to lose colour, and the full moon could be seen quite distinctly high above, not yet golden but white. It was much easier to breathe, and the voices under the lindens now sounded softer, eveningish.
(It's better to create than destroy what's unnecessary)
Sunday, December 5, 2010
The Master and Margarita - pg. 42
Labels: Mikhail Bulgakov
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